


Isla Negra

by rhysiana



Series: Petals and Thorns [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Excessive amounts of fluff, Florist!Nursey, M/M, Musician!Dex, Viña del Mar International Song Festival, except the flower shop isn't actually in this one, fictional characters participating in real events, rock star boyfriends, visiting Pablo Neruda's house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 19:45:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7697140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhysiana/pseuds/rhysiana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek still wasn’t really sure how his life had brought him to the point of accompanying his rock star boyfriend to an international music festival, but here he was, in the backseat of a luxury taxi on the way from the Santiago airport to a hotel in Viña del Mar, translating Spanish-to-English for the driver and Will.</p><p>*</p><p>In which Will flies Derek to another hemisphere just to visit his favorite poet's house. Because they're both enormous saps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Isla Negra

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be "oh, probably just a short follow-up piece for The Punk and the Florist because I finally have an excuse to send Nursey to Chile!" and then it turned into a 7000-word exploration of how Will is trying to integrate Derek into his rock star life.
> 
> Many thanks to [storiesfromtheden](http://storiesfromtheden.tumblr.com/) for answering my questions about Snapchat. Hopefully I don't come off all "how to use Twitter" in this, but if I do, it's my fault, not hers. (There are only so many forms of social media I can use, dammit.)

Derek still wasn’t really sure how his life had brought him to the point of accompanying his rock star boyfriend to an international music festival, but here he was, in the backseat of a luxury taxi on the way from the Santiago airport to a hotel in Viña del Mar, translating Spanish-to-English for the driver and Will.

“So you’re here for the festival?” the driver asked.

“Yes,” Derek said, taking a moment to line the words up in his head. He hadn’t actually spoken Spanish for extended periods for a while, and the Chilean accent was taking some getting used to. “Um, he’s actually playing.”

“Really?” The driver’s eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror to look at Will again. “Is he competing?”

Fortunately Derek had looked into Viña del Mar International Song Festival when Will’s band had first been invited, so this question made sense. “No, no, his band is one of the invited guest performers.” Though that probably should have been obvious from Will’s lack of Spanish.

“Yeah? Which band?”

“Manic Generation. I don’t know if they’re very popular down here, or…”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard them on the radio. They play all the special guests for weeks ahead of time. Sorry I didn’t recognize him, I know the song, I just don’t really know what any of the singers look like.”

Will smiled when Derek relayed this. “Maybe I’ll actually be able to walk around here without having to resort to a disguise.”

Derek smacked him lightly on the arm. “He says it’s kind of a relief,” he told the driver. “We’re looking forward to seeing some of the city.”

“Oh, yes, you will love Viña! And Valpo, you should go over there, ride the funicular. See the women…” He whistled in appreciation. “The women of Valpo, they climb all those hills in high heels, yeah? They have the best legs and…” He made a butt-cupping gesture.

Derek dutifully relayed this information, avoiding Will’s eyes to avoid cracking up. Silently he resolved to find a reason to hang back and watch Will climb a few of those hills. Definitely a view worth appreciating.

Will pointed to some bit of scenery out the window, which the driver appeared to interpret as a subtle cue to let the two of them have their own conversation in the back. He started humming “Narcissus,” answering Derek’s curiosity about which song had been getting radio play here, and Will tried not to grin.

***

“Your Spanish is good,” commented Maria Claudia, their official translator, as she and Derek stood backstage, watching the supposedly organized chaos of the festival directors trying to walk the various performers through the schedule of events for the week. Manic Generation wasn’t performing until day five, by which point at least Mike would have forgotten everything and need to be told again, so Derek wasn’t paying much attention.

“Thanks. I took classes all through high school and college, so it’s good to hear I actually learned something.”

“Really? Just studied in school? Your accent is good. Not…” She trailed off, searching for tact.

“Obnoxiously American?”

The translator tilted her head in acknowledgement.

“My teachers were all native speakers, and I’ve been to Spain several times. Not recently, though. My speaking feels rusty.”

“You seem to be catching up pretty quickly.”

“The Chilean accent is really interesting. I didn’t realize it was so different.”

She gave a wry smile. “Welcome to the Southern Cone. We like to be weird down here.”

“No, I mean it! Pablo Neruda was one of the main reasons I wanted to learn Spanish, because I was never sure if the translations I was reading were any good. But now I think I still haven’t been hearing the words right.”

“You know Neruda?” She seemed mildly surprised, in the way of people who are never sure if someone famous in their own country is actually well-known in other places.

“Uh, yeah. He’s one of my favorite poets.” He fought the urge to cover the words tattooed on his arm. _Way to look like an obsessed fanboy, Derek._

“Hmm. Not really what I expected from an American punk band.”

“Well, I’m not really in the band.”

“You’re a manager or something?”

“No, that’s Geoff.” He pointed to where Geoff was hovering behind Mike and James, trying to prevent them from wandering off. “I’m Liam’s boyfriend. I’m just here to look pretty.”

She blinked at him, clearly not quite sure if he was joking about that last part.

He smiled and shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not sure why he insisted I come on this particular trip, but it’s winter in New York, so I wasn’t turning down a trip to the beach.”

She smiled at that. “There are definitely worse places than Viña in February.”

“I’m looking forward to getting to see it.”

***

When they finally made it to their suite at the hotel, Will dropped his backpack on the floor, flung his jacket away from him without actually looking to see where it landed, and collapsed facedown on the bed. “Oof.”

The weight of Derek’s knees settled onto the bed on either side of his waist, and then hands, blessed hands, started kneading his shoulders. He groaned and buried his face in the pillow. “Never stop,” he mumbled.

One hand moved up to his neck, thumb digging into the spot at the base of his skull where he always seemed to collect the most tension. He sighed as his muscles finally seemed to relax. Derek noticed and smoothed his hands across his shoulders one last time before swinging his leg over and settling himself on the other pillow where Will could actually see him.

“I don’t understand how long flights still get you this tensed up. You’re a rock star! You have to fly all the time!”

“I don’t fit on planes.”

Derek gave him an unimpressed look. “We’re the same height, and we were in first class.”

“My legs are longer.”

“First. Class.”

“Okay, fine, I concede. It’s not really the planes, anyway. I’m just always sure this is the time they’ll lose the entire drum kit or something. I never relax until I see everything at the venue.”

“You know, you have people to deal with that for you now.”

“And you know exactly how much I’d ridicule myself as an entitled asshole if I didn’t check anyway.”

“You’re only an entitled asshole if you yell at your people for not doing their jobs when things aren’t their fault. Deciding to delegate worrying over logistics just means you trust them.”

Will buried his face in the pillow again. “Argh! I’m working on it, okay?”

Derek ran his fingers through Will’s hair. “I know. It’s cute.”

Will lifted his head and narrowed his eyes at Derek. “Cute, am I?” He pushed Derek over onto his back and pinned him with a kiss. Derek’s hands ran down his back again, with less soothing intentions this time.

“I like cute,” Derek said, smiling into the kiss.

***

They spent the rest of the afternoon in the room before they had to go to the opening ceremony of the festival. Mike and James had tried to get them to go out to scout for nearby bars, but their laughing response to Will’s reply of “Screw off” made it clear they’d never expected him to go.

They were now sitting on the balcony, watching the ocean with room-service food on the table between them. Derek was looking through his guidebook. “Look, there’s a flower clock!”

Will smiled as he reached for a grape. “I thought you’d like that. There’s supposed to be a bunch of gardens, too.”

Derek looked at him in surprise.

“What? I can read the guidebook, too. I looked at it while you were asleep on the plane. Want to go see the clock tomorrow?”

“Sure! Do you have time?”

“Yeah, we don’t actually have a lot we have to do the next two mornings. Obviously we’re supposed to be at the festival, or at least I intend to go to the other performances, dunno about the other guys, but I think our interviews and shit are all scheduled for day four and then rehearsal is the morning of day five.”

“I get to make you be a tourist?” Derek asked gleefully.

“And here I thought you were the big-city world traveler.”

“You don’t understand! I’m finally actually traveling in another country with someone I _like_. I don’t have to act cool and then sneak off by myself to see the museums I’m actually interested in this time.” Derek had honestly been surprised when he’d gotten his passport out and seen how long it had been since he’d been out of the country. The shop really had taken up most of his time. He’d hardly noticed.

The space between Will’s eyebrows creased in irritation. “Were _all_ of your Andover friends complete dicks?”

“More or less. There was one guy who actually went to Samwell, too, but he was three years ahead of me, so I didn’t exactly ‘summer’ with him.”

Will snorted and poked at the sandwich on his plate. “Is this amount of mayonnaise really normal?”

Derek laughed and pulled himself back fully into the present. “Must be a Chilean thing.”

***

The next two mornings were Derek’s idea of perfect. Will’s hope that he wouldn’t be readily recognized in Chile seemed to be true (or maybe the residents and regular festival attendees had just become blasé about seeing musicians in February), and they spent hours wandering the scenic parts of town.

“Here, give me your phone,” Will said.

Derek looked at him questioningly as he handed it over.

“You need pictures of you next to the clock for your Instagram,” Will explained, like it was obvious.

Derek’s expression, when he checked the picture after Will handed his phone back, was hopelessly besotted, but he hoped it wouldn’t be too obvious to the rest of the world. He was definitely posting that picture.

Will took his picture again in one of the city gardens, and at an ocean overlook (where Derek reciprocated with Will’s own phone), and then stole his phone again and got a picture of him laughing over lunch.

“What’s with this new interest in photography? Not that I’m objecting. I’m sure the shop’s Instagram followers will be happy.”

“You know they’re not all following just for your arrangement pictures, right?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “I try not to think about it too much. And I don’t post that many pictures of myself.”

“Much to our eternal dismay.”

“But seriously, what’s up?”

Will’s cheeks reddened slightly. “I dunno, it might be dumb, but I like the idea of you actually posting pictures from our trip. Other people will see how happy you were, but I’ll know _why_.”

Derek’s breath caught for a second. Their relationship wasn’t exactly a secret, but Will had always insisted Derek’s privacy never be violated by any reporters he agreed to do interviews with, and his particular brand of fame didn’t seem to have inspired any paparazzi to go to the effort of stalking him. The world knew Will had a boyfriend, but not who, and he worked hard to keep it that way. Derek understood why.

He looked consideringly at Will’s side of the table, noting that he’d barely eaten any of his lunch yet, and picked up his phone again. He carefully framed a shot of Will’s plate, his long fingers visible to the side, wrapped around his glass. He turned the screen toward Will. “Look, now you’re here with me.” _What do you think?_ his expression said.

Will smiled slowly, still a little embarrassed, but happy. “Yeah, post it.”

Derek grinned as he typed the caption: “Lunch with bae. I’m about to steal off his plate.”

Will groaned. “‘Bae.’ What are we, eighteen?”

“You love it.”

Will rolled his eyes, but didn’t offer even a token objection when Derek stole a fry.

“Seriously, what is it with this country and mayonnaise?”

***

“Dude,” Mike said, leaning over to be heard above the act currently performing on stage, “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you look this relaxed at an event.”

Will shrugged. “We don’t have to perform for another two days.”

“That is so not the reason.”

“Shut up, _Wisniewski_.” Will shoved at his shoulder.

“You gonna tell me any different, Poindexter?”

“No.”

“Thought so.” Mike settled back in his seat, looking smug.

Will reached over and intertwined his fingers with Derek’s, feeling pretty smug himself, and for better reason. He didn’t need Mike to point out how much… calmer he felt. How much more human. Will wasn’t sure he could remember the last time he’d bothered to go sightseeing in a tour city. It was just so much easier with Derek there. Finding things he might be interested in reminded Will it was okay to look for things that interested him, too.

Derek leaned in from the other side. “Maria Claudia told me the stage design is a huge thing every year. They spend millions on it. And the TV stations all fight over who gets to broadcast the contest.”

Will studied the stage. “It looks good. They really went in for the pyrotechnics during the opening ceremony.”

“Yeah. I wonder what they’ll do during your performance.”

Will shrugged, not particularly concerned. “Whatever it is, I know they cleared it with Geoff and the tech guys.”

“Is Geoff filming it?”

“Of course. Well, someone is. I doubt it’s actually him. But he’s already collecting recordings of everything, for the inevitable live album release. And I know you’ve seen his behind-the-scenes videos on our YouTube page.”

“Yeah, he seems to know what he’s doing.”

“Much as I hate to admit it some days.”

Conversation then turned to semi-serious critiques of the song competition contestants as they tried to guess what the judges were actually looking for and valiant efforts not to be snarky about the other invited guest performers, which met with only moderate success.

***

On the morning of the fourth day of the festival, Will woke up so comfortable he never wanted to move again, with Derek and his habitual warmth wrapped around him from behind, and an ocean breeze blowing in through the window in front of him. “Mmmm,” he hummed to himself, gently squeezing Derek’s arm more firmly to his chest.

And then his stupid fucking alarm went off.

“No!” he grunted, slapping at his phone to get it to shut up.

He felt Derek grinning into his shoulder. “Not really a morning person, are you?”

“I’m perfectly happy to be a morning person, as long as I don’t actually have to get out of bed.”

“Well,” Derek paused here to kiss the back of his neck, “that’s not really an option today.” He pressed another kiss into his shoulder.

“You’re not really helping your argument there.”

Derek sat up, pulling the covers with him. “Up!”

“Uuuugh, fine. I’m up, I’m up.” Will swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and then sat there, rubbing at his eyes. His transition to wakefulness was never quick.

A mug of coffee appeared before his face. “I will give this to you if you promise to keep your eyes open.”

Will extended his hands like he was accepting a benediction. He clutched the mug to him and breathed deep. This cleared his head enough to frown at the cup. “Where did we get coffee from?” He could swear he hadn’t been zoned out for that long.

“Geoff. And the message that you have to be fully conscious and presentable in ninety minutes.”

Will made a vague noise of acknowledgement. Cautiously, he took a sip of coffee, testing to see if it was cool enough to drink. Yes, he decided, if he drank it slowly. He’d just sit here and do that, then.

By the time he finished his first cup, he was feeling consistently aware. Derek set something on the bed next to him, and he looked down to find a stack of clothing.

“Are you dressing me now?”

“Today I am. You’re doing interviews. There will be pictures. Can’t have my man looking sloppy.”

“I’m a punk singer. Sloppy is my aesthetic.”

“No, strategic rips and eyeliner is your aesthetic. The longer you argue about this for _no apparent reason_ , the longer it is until you get your second cup of coffee.”

Will moved.

When he emerged from the bedroom in, yes, strategically ripped designer jeans and a black t-shirt, a second cup of coffee was waiting for him. He picked it up, took a large swallow, topped it off again, and went to join Derek on the balcony. “Thank you.”

“Hey, you look human again!”

Will felt the corner of his mouth lift and sipped some more coffee, staring out at the ocean.

“So I thought I’d take my stuff downstairs and hang out in the café for a while,” Derek said.

Will turned to look at him, brow furrowing. “Why?”

“To get out of the way of your interviews?”

“Well, I mean, if that would make you more comfortable…”

Derek studied him, and Will tried to force the sudden tension back out of his shoulders. “You’d rather I stayed.” It was a statement, not a question.

Will finished the coffee in his mug as he tried to put his immediate reaction into words. “Yes, I would. I’m not hiding you. I don’t want reporters to bug you, but that’s for your sake, not mine. I don’t want you to feel like you’re being chased out of the room. It’s your room, too. It’s your _life_ , too. I don’t think I’ve done a very good job of figuring out where the boundaries are supposed to be, and it’s starting to frustrate me.”

Derek just smiled at him, then rose, ran his fingers through the side of Will’s hair to the back of his neck, and pulled him in for a kiss. “Then I think I’ll write out here instead. I like the view.”

“Yeah, the ocean is nice.”

“That, too.” Derek patted him on the butt as he went back in. Will grinned and followed him.

Now that he was mostly caffeinated, he went back into the bathroom to finish putting on Liam for the day’s interviews. He fished the jewelry pouch out of his toiletries kit and dumped out his selection of earrings, then considered himself in the mirror for a few seconds before sorting through and choosing a few studs to switch out with his everyday ones. Not a huge difference, just a little shinier, a little flashier. A leather cuff to snap around one wrist. A couple of rings. And then, last, when he’d given himself the best chance at attaining full coordination, eyeliner. He could have had Grace do it, but he’d been doing it himself for so long now, this was faster. Besides, she always wanted to do too much. Interviews didn’t need the full stage treatment.

He found his boots halfway under the bed, stomped them on, and emerged back into the sitting room still with thirty minutes to spare. Hooray! He actually had time to eat before people started showing up. He grabbed a plate for a roll, added butter and jam, piled some fruit next to it, got another cup of coffee, and retired to the balcony once more.

Derek whistled. “Liam’s hot.”

Will gave him the finger. He would have stuck out his tongue, but his mouth was full.

“And rude.”

Mouth still full, he threw up the horns this time.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re so punk rock.”

He smiled and washed things down with some coffee.

“What? You just admitted I’m hot.”

“Baby, I always think you’re hot.”

“You two are gross,” said Mike from the doorway.

“Yeah, get a room,” said James.

“You’re in our room, you moron,” Will retorted, wishing he hadn’t eaten all the grapes so he could throw at least one at them.

“Boys, behave,” said Geoff. “Hi, Derek, how are you?”

“I’m good. I got Will up for you and everything.”

“It’s a miracle!”

“Shut up. He does a much better job than you,” Will said.

“La la la, I don’t need the details,” Geoff sang, putting his hands over his ears.

This time Will did stick out his tongue.

There was a knock at the door, so Geoff gestured for the band to get settled in the sitting room as he went to let the first journalist in. Will paused at the balcony door. “Do you need anything?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’ve got like three books and my journal, so I’ll be fine for hours.”

Will leaned over to plant a kiss in Derek’s cloud of curls and went to work.

***

No matter the country, the questions were always the same:

“How did you all meet?” High school.

“Are you ever surprised by your success?” Yes, they were just a garage band playing in the boat shed between the ~~Wisniewski~~ Townes cousins’ houses. They were going to break up after senior year and go to college, but they got a recording offer during what was supposed to be their last set of summer shows.

“Do you ever regret not going?” Will took this one, with his standard answer: “No, I figured out I could read books about whatever subject I wanted to on my own.” “Yeah, you should see this nerd’s luggage on tour,” chimed in James.

“Tell us about the theme of your last album. It was quite a change for you.” Will couldn’t stop himself from smiling and glancing at Derek out on the balcony, not caring if the interviewer noticed. He gave his practiced answer about his discovery of the language of flowers, honed through dozens of previous interviews already. He could see Derek smiling as he listened from the balcony and pretended to be working. Will’s fingers itched for a piece of paper. Maybe his guitar.

Mike passed him a pad of hotel stationery and the pen he’d been spinning through his fingers as soon as the first interviewer left. Will looked at him in surprise, and Mike shrugged. “You were tapping your fingers.” Of course the drummer would notice. Will smiled his thanks and scribbled notes to himself until the next journalist was shown in.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of stock answers, fragmentary lyrics, and watching Derek’s hands and mouth as he contributed commentary to the night’s performances. Will had never minded a media day less.

***

Day five found Derek perched on an empty equipment case backstage, watching rehearsal with Maria Claudia. No one had yelled at him yet, so he assumed it was okay to sit there.

“Is it much different from their other rehearsals?” she asked curiously.

“I don’t know, this is the first one I’ve been to.”

She looked at him, surprised. “But you seem so…” She rolled her hand, searching for the right expression. “Established? Not like a new couple.”

He shrugged. “We met when he was trying to dodge some fans. He didn’t want me to have to deal with that, so I’m not really part of his public life. Besides, it’s not like I can go on tour with him. I have my own business to run. This is my vacation.”

“Hmmm,” was her only response. They returned their attention to the stage.

Derek laughed at the opening chords of the next song. “Narcissus.”

Maria Claudia raised her eyebrows. “It’s very popular here right now. Am I missing a joke? I mean, I like the way it makes fun of the vain person, but…”

“No, it’s just I know why he wrote it. It’s named after the flower arrangement he bought from me the first time we met.” He forbore from mentioning it was actually about James. He still didn’t know if James had made that connection, and Derek certainly wasn’t going to be the one to tell him. It was a good song. There were worse ways to channel a little passive-aggression.

Maria Claudia appeared to be listening to the lyrics with greater attention now. “Are all the new songs related to your flowers?”

“Well, not necessarily mine, but he borrowed my language of flowers book for inspiration. Even when we start from the same idea, his writing is very different from mine.”

“You write, too?”

“Oh, yeah. Poetry.”

She nodded. “Ah. Neruda.”

“Yeah.” He was glad the combination of the low light backstage and his complexion would hide his blush. He hated talking about his own work. Fortunately, it looked like the rehearsal was breaking up. Maria Claudia went out onto the stage to translate final questions from the tech crew.

Will nodded at something, handed his guitar to a roadie (who Derek was sure he had the name of somewhere in his brain, but hell if he could remember it right now), and walked over to lean against the equipment next to Derek, casually bumping shoulders. “Hey.”

Derek smiled at him. “Hey. Seeing you at work is fun.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, I knew you were good. It’s not like I didn’t go watch you on YouTube. But it’s different in person.”

“That is the idea.”

Derek bumped back into Will’s shoulder, purposefully putting a little more oomph into it this time. “I _know_ what the point of a live concert is, thank you very much. I’m just not usually dating the lead singer.”

“I should hope not.” Will reached over and caught Derek’s cheek to pull him in for a quick kiss. “Can I get you to do something tonight?”

“Oooh, something kinky?”

Will rolled his eyes. “No, you dork. I want you to take my phone and Snap the concert from your seat.”

“Doesn’t Geoff normally do that?”

“Yeah, but he’s boring. I want _you_ to do it. As ‘The Boyfriend.’” Derek could hear the capitals making it an official title. He felt absurdly pleased.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I can do that.”

***

[Snap video of Will in his everyday look]: “Hey everyone, Liam here. I’m opening the Snap story for our concert at the Viña del Mar International Song Festival. Obviously I’ll be kind of busy, so I’m turning my phone over to my boyfriend.” [A hand appears from behind the camera, giving a thumb’s up. Will smiles.] “Have fun!”

[Snap photo of Will on the balcony with a cup of coffee, looking at the ocean]: That’s his fourth cup today. I’m cutting him off.

[Snap photo of Will’s earrings spread across the bathroom counter]: These are just the ones he brought with him!

[Close-up Snap video of Will applying his eyeliner in the mirror]:  
**Derek** (off-camera, arm holding the phone visible at the edge of the frame): “Showing off some seriously impressive application skills.”  
**Will** : “Well, I have been doing it for ten years now.”  
**Derek** : “Ever stab yourself in the eye?”  
**Will** : “Only the first time. My sister laughed for five straight minutes.”

[A series of Snap photos from the car window on the way to the venue]: Viña del Mar!

[Snap photo of empty amphitheater from the road]: Quinta Vergara Amphitheater

[Short Snap video of Will, Mike, and James waving as they disappear into their green room]: “See you later!”

[Snap video showing a slow pan of the now-packed amphitheater]: Derek’s voice: “Just in case you all didn’t understand what a big deal this is in Chile. This is day five. It’s been like this every day.”

[Snap video of Manic Generation coming out onto the stage]: *loud cheering*

[Snap photo of Geoff in the next seat, a much better video camera in hand]: This is Geoff. He’ll post better stuff to YouTube later.

[A series of Snap videos from throughout Manic Generation’s set]: (caption on first one) Trying to capture the stage design & pyrotechnics.

[Snap photo of the stage, clearly taken from the wings, the hosts with microphones in hand]: Going backstage!

[Snap photo of a door with a hand-written “Manic Generation” sign]: Green room.

[Snap photo of a giant floral arrangement in the green room]: I wonder where these came from!

[Closer Snap photo of the flowers]: Tweet your guesses about the message in this one to Liam.

[Snap photo of the flowers from another angle]: We’ll pick a winner tomorrow and send a prize when we’re back in the States.

[Snap photo of the band pretending to be shocked about the flowers]: They think they’re so funny.

[Snap of five shot glasses on a tray]: Celebratory post-show pisco sours courtesy of our translator Maria Claudia.

[Snap photo of Will kissing the side of Derek’s face, who is clearly laughing, though mostly obscured]: He’s taking his phone back now! Bye!

***

Will refused to get out of bed the next morning. “There is absolutely no reason to get up today,” he said, sounding extremely satisfied as he starfished across the entire bed. Derek rolled his eyes and went to get coffee from the room service tray Geoff had arranged again. Apparently this was Will’s normal reaction the day after a show. When he brought the mugs back into the bedroom, Will was propped up on his side of the bed with a stack of pillows behind him, looking at his phone. Derek set his cup of coffee down on the bedside table and his own to the other side.

“I thought you’d go back to sleep.”

“Nope, I just don’t want to get up. Come here.”

He pulled Derek back down until he was settled with his head on Will’s shoulder. “Perfect.” Derek smiled and pressed a kiss into his neck.

Will tilted his phone screen toward Derek. “Look, you’re popular.”

“What?”

“The stats for your story. Geoff’s going to have to hire you to do them for all our concerts now. You got way more views than he does.”

Derek settled more firmly against Will’s side and closed his eyes. “He can’t afford me.”

“Should I start checking Twitter for correct answers about the flowers? I assume there is a correct answer.”

“There is, and I can give it to Geoff to give to an intern to impartially pick someone.”

Will thumbed over to his Twitter notifications and scrolled through them for about ten seconds before swiping away. “Uh, yeah, good plan. There’s… a _lot_ of guesses. And other stuff.”

“Other stuff?”

“Lots of people wanting to know what you actually look like.”

“And ruin my air of mystery? Never!”

Will tossed his phone across the rug to slide to a stop next to his boots. “No more phone. No more other people.” He slid down the pillows until he was lying down again and pulled Derek on top of him.

“Your coffee’s going to get cold,” Derek murmured as his breath ghosted against Will’s ear.

Will nipped lightly at Derek’s neck and ran his hands down his back. “Mm-hmm. Don’t care.”

Derek gave a breathy laugh. “A truer declaration of love I have never heard.”

The coffee was indeed stone cold before they thought about it again.

***

Will finally conceded to getting out of bed in order to have lunch. They sat on the balcony in bathrobes and picked off each other’s plates. “So tonight is the last night of the festival,” Will said, clearly leading into something.

“Yup,” Derek agreed.

“But you undoubtedly noticed our return tickets aren’t for another few days.”

“I did notice that, yes.” Derek tried to hide his amused smile behind his glass, taking a sip of whatever random juice they’d picked off the menu this time (carrot, apparently) as he waited for Will to get to the point.

He looked up and Will’s intense gaze caught his. The summer sunlight glinted through his copper hair as he leaned forward. What on Earth was he going to say?

“So I thought we could go to Pablo Neruda’s house at Isla Negra tomorrow.”

Derek’s breath caught. “Really?”

“Of course. It’s why I wanted you to come with us this time. I couldn’t imagine being here without you. His house is only like an hour away.”

Derek tried to let his breath back out slowly, with control, the way he always did in emotional situations, but he couldn’t quite manage it because he was smiling too much. It was stupid to be so affected by this; of course Will knew how much Derek would want to visit Neruda’s house, of all things. But he wasn’t actually sure he could remember the last time someone had gone out of their way to do something just because they knew _he_ would like it.

“Thank you,” he said simply. It seemed like a wholly inadequate way to express everything he was feeling, but they were the only words he had right now.

***

Will watched the smile bloom across Derek’s face and felt an answering joy spread through his own chest. Derek was usually pretty reserved, and his darker skin didn’t advertise his every passing emotion to the world the way Will’s did, so Will treasured moments like this, when he could tell he’d made Derek really, truly happy. God, he wanted to do it forever.

He wasn’t actually sure Derek let go of his hand that whole night at the festival. It was perfect.

***

A hired car picked them up the next day at the hotel to take them to Isla Negra. (Will had arranged everything through Maria Claudia. He suspected Derek had done the same for the flowers at their show, and he wondered how much she was laughing to herself over how sappy they were.) Derek had his messenger bag with him, ostensibly for his camera (“and sunscreen and water, Will, the sun is really strong here, you’re going to fry your skin off,” which wasn’t untrue), but Will was entirely unsurprised when he pulled out his journal on the way, looking raptly out the window and jotting down the occasional note. He spotted a volume of Neruda tucked in there as well and smiled to himself.

Having visited places of interest with Mike and James in the past, Will was half expecting Derek to talk non-stop from the moment they got out of the car, and he wouldn’t have minded; it was always a good way to pick up random bits of knowledge he would never have bothered to look up for himself. But touring the house with Derek was even better. Will wasn’t sure he’d seen such a perfect personification of quiet wonder. To anyone else, he probably looked politely interested in what the guide was saying, but Will could feel the tightness of his grip where their fingers were interlaced, could see his slightly widened eyes as he took everything in, noticed the excited tension across his shoulders.

“As you will notice, each room has a theme. The house wasn’t exactly like this when Neruda lived here, because it was looted, but we have tried our best to restore it to something like what he might have had. These are all actually his possessions—he was a great collector of many things—and we were able to bring these from his other residences when we were establishing the museum. This house was built to resemble a ship, and all the collections he kept here had an ocean theme, which we have maintained.”

They wandered through rooms filled with mermaids, with shells, with tiny ships in bottles, and figureheads from actual ships in leaning in the corners and suspended from the low ceilings. Derek stopped at a desk under a window overlooking the ocean and just stood for a moment, as if trying to absorb the atmosphere.

Eventually they went outside and walked all around the house, stopping to admire the squat stone turret at the center. “Like a pilothouse,” Will commented, taking in the fish-shaped weather vane at the peak of the roof.

“I keep forgetting you actually worked on boats.”

“You can take the boy out of Maine…” Will shrugged. “But hey, lobsters paid for our first amps.”

Derek smiled and led him further around the house, running his fingers lightly over the strip of stone fish mosaic set just above the foundation on this end of the house.

They stopped at the grave in the courtyard, where Neruda and his third wife, Matilde, were buried side by side. “He dedicated his book of sonnets to her, you know,” Derek said quietly. Will wrapped his arm around Derek’s waist. “He didn’t publish anything about her until after his previous wife died, but there were a hundred sonnets. I wonder if he ever felt like he’d found the right words.”

Will thought about all the songs he’d written about anger and frustration, and how nothing ever seemed to capture it well enough to banish it. “Probably not.” He thought about trying to capture love, which seemed infinitely bigger, in a song. “Maybe it’s not possible. Maybe there are only the right words to express one small piece of it at a time. So you have to keep trying.”

Derek stared at him with very wide eyes. Will suspected he’d actually managed to shock him. He looked away, feeling his face redden, and scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Hey, want to go sit on the beach?”

“Um, sure.”

It was a public beach, and given that it was the height of the Chilean summer, there were plenty of other people there, but the shore was too rocky to permit swimming, so it wasn’t too bad. Will found a boulder and climbed up to sit on it, one knee up, the other leg hanging off the side. The rocks were the wrong type of stone, he was facing the ocean in the wrong direction, and the sunlight held a different quality, but all the same, the crashing waves still felt like home. He tilted his face up to the sky and closed his eyes.

Derek nudged his arm. “Here.” Will opened his eyes and smiled at the small tube of sunscreen being held out to him. He accepted it and dutifully reapplied to his face and neck. He was already slightly burned from their earlier walks around Viña, despite how careful he’d tried to be.

He dropped his other leg off the side of the boulder and pulled Derek to him until his back was pressed into Will’s chest. He propped his chin on Derek’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around him.

Derek ran the fingers of his right hand down the words on the inside of his left arm. “Did I ever tell you why I got this?”

Will shook his head, knowing Derek could feel it.

“ _Podrán cortar todas las flores, pero no podrán detener la primavera_ ,” Derek recited from memory, not looking at the words. “I got it when I was seventeen. I still had a year to go at Andover, and I just knew if I could get through it, I’d be going away to college and things would be better. But I needed a reminder. Something I could look at every day, something permanent that no one could take away. The other guys in my dorm just thought it was some stupid thing about flowers, but I needed to hold on to the part about the coming of spring.”

Will shivered at the thought of what lay behind those words. “I’m glad it worked.”

“Me, too.”

They stared out at the ocean, listening to the waves and feeling each other breathe.

“Hey,” Will said quietly.

“Hmm?” said Derek, sounding half-asleep.

“I love you, you know that, right?”

Derek turned his head slightly. “Of course I know that. I love you, too.”

“So what do you think about getting married?”

Derek went completely still. Will lifted his chin off Derek’s shoulder, not entirely certain what that reaction meant. Derek pulled away slightly, but only so he could turn around to look at Will instead of the ocean. He studied Will’s face intently for a second, then took his face in his hands and kissed him deeply. Will’s hands tightened on Derek’s hips in response. “So is that a yes?” he asked when Derek drew back.

“Yes. It’s a definite yes.”

“Good.” Will kissed him again. “Do you want to read me some of the poems you brought? I saw the book in your bag.”

Derek swallowed and blinked a few times in an attempt to dispel the tears Will could see trying to gather. “Yeah, I’d like that.” He climbed up on the boulder next to Will and pulled the book out of his bag. Will spent the next half-hour listening to Derek’s voice over the background sounds of the waves breaking against the rocks, his thumb brushing lightly against the back of Derek’s neck. When Derek lowered the book to take a break, Will caught his hand and interlaced their fingers, bringing Derek’s hand up for a quick kiss before he got out his phone.

“Can I?”

Derek just looked at him inquiringly until he thumbed open Snapchat, then laughed.

***

[Snap photo of two hands intertwined, one with long, pale fingers and freckles across the back, the other brown, with blunt nails and an ink stain on the pen callus of the middle finger. The hands are clasped over the open pages of a book, corners fluttering in the breeze, the ocean visible in the background.]: He said yes.

***

From the liner notes of Manic Generation’s album _Black Island_ :

This was both a difficult and important album to write. When I first met my husband, I noticed a line of poetry tattooed on his arm and desperately wanted to know what it said. At the time, it was just because he was hot and I wanted to know more about him. But when I learned what it meant, "They can cut all the flowers, but they cannot prevent spring from coming," I also learned the story behind it. Its real message was one that he, and I, and so many people in this world, many of Manic Generation’s fans included, have all needed to hear at different times: “It gets better.”

And so, while I hope this album, as always, gives its listeners a release for some of their darker feelings, I have also attempted to imbue it with a sense of hope. Because things might suck now, but it gets better.

It gets better.

—Liam Dexter, New York

_Proceeds of this album are being donated to the Suicide Prevention Hotline and the following LGBTQA non-profit organizations: …_

**Author's Note:**

> Story notes:  
> • One of the songs on _Black Island_ is “Siren,” which uses the traditional image of the mermaid dragging sailors to their deaths as a metaphor for suicidal thoughts. Derek is listed as the co-writer.  
>  • In case it's unclear, Mike and James are cousins. Their last name is Wisniewski, but like Poindexter, this was deemed insufficiently punk rock, so their stage last name is Townes. After Will moves in with Derek for good, Mike takes over Will's apartment, because he and James had actually been sharing for all these years. "Isn't that kind of weird?" Derek asked. Will shrugged. "They're same-age cousins who grew up next door to each other. They might as well be twins." They're still in the same building anyway, and no one had wanted to give up the sound-proofed recording studio Will had built into his place. Mike's drum kit was already in there anyway.  
> • See [here](http://littlestpersimmon.tumblr.com/post/147600118838/listens-to-all-american-rejects-whilst-drawing) for an illustration of Will and Derek sightseeing in the streets of Viña. I had that link open in my browser the entire time I was writing. littlestpersimmon is amazing.
> 
> Chile notes:  
> • Viña del Mar (Viña) and Valparaíso (Valpo) are right next to each other on the coast and are basically one city now, hence the cab driver’s casually lumping the *ahem* sights to see in both places into the same conversation.  
> • The women of Valpo being famous for their legs was an actual thing told to me. Possibly by my 16-year-old host brother, now that I think about it, but everyone else in the room was nodding, so he wasn’t *just* being a horny teenager.  
> • I did not actually go to the festival. The first thing I did when arriving at my host family’s house was have to be hospitalized due to severe food poisoning from the study abroad program dinner the night before. My friends who did go said it was quite the experience. There are families that keep permanent apartments in Viña/Valpo just so they’ll have a place to stay for the festival. Anyway, I have absolutely no idea if any of the backstage stuff is accurate, but the location and the number of days is right, so we'll just roll with it.  
> • Y’all, my father’s face at what he got when I specifically ordered him a sandwich with “only half the mayonnaise.” Priceless.


End file.
